


A Slow Sip from an Empty Cup

by orphan_account



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: F/M, Modern AU, Womaniser Sinbad is in town everyone watch out, bartender Masrur, drunk ja, fem!jafar, implied sexual stuff, small bits of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:33:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25627501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A hectic night at the bar, in which Masrur gets to meet the latest victim of Sinbad’s heartbreaking streak.
Relationships: Jafar/Masrur (Magi), Jafar/Sinbad (Magi) unrequited love
Kudos: 5





	A Slow Sip from an Empty Cup

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally gonna have more chapters, but I lost my motivation.
> 
> Also I’m very unsure with angst and fluff tags, so I generally don’t use them, so if this isn’t angsty enough for you then I apologise.

Stumbling home drunk wasn’t something Ja’far liked, her head throbbed in pain, even when she sat down on the ground with her head in her hands, enjoying the cold texture her hands provided.

She sighed. Despite the pain she looked up through blurry eyes, seeing the dim light from a lamp, and she stumbled, legs dragging behind her as she crawled into bed, trying to pull off the jacket without disturbing her head enough to cause her to rip the clothing stuck on her arms. She couldn’t get it off, and accepted her loss, being more than _happy_ that she might get some kind of rest, and not remember anything the next day, with the alcohol still in her system it shouldn’t be that hard.

She stretched out her legs, piling the blankets around her and pulling a pillow close, shutting her eyes, letting the light vanish and the warm throbbing pain disappear.

Masrur himself didn’t see any problems with people hooking up at the back of the bar, the loud bass music drowned out the noises so he didn’t mind, but when someone came out after looking _sad_ he got...uncomfortable.

It got even worse when he saw Sinbad coming out of there, drunk and looking all too pleased with himself with a girl (or boy) coming out and looking uncomfortable, or unhappy or downright scared. 

He knew Sinbad was a womaniser, a heartbreaker, but it hurt him, knowing a dear friend would go that low and hurt someone.

Today he had seen a woman stumble out of there, Sinbad’s name spilling from her stained lips.

He had seen her, had seen her pale hands clutch at the wrinkled business attire Sinbad wore, seen the tears mess with the small amount of eyeliner she wore, had seen her face scrunch up in fear, heartbreak and seen her break down, hands covering her face as she cowered, Masrur couldn’t hear because of the music, couldn’t see very well for the crowds of people hid her behind them, towered over her like taunting puppets, throwing long shadows over her and forgotten bottles that had been thrown around.

He saw Sinbad shrug, and walk out, saw the cold breezes outside blow his long purple hair behind him like a kings cape before the man stepped outside.

Masrur frowned, serving a drink to the already drunk woman leaning over the counter before walking out from behind the bar, cutting through the crowd, to find the woman.

She was curled up, like a scared mouse below him, a thin cardigan sloppily hung over her shoulders. He kneeled down, knowing she probably didn’t even notice it.

“Miss?”

The woman looked up, the dim like, dusty dark grey colour of them made him surprised. He’d only ever seen such a dusty, stormy eyes in movies, tinted with a layer of tears and the woman sniffled, pulling Masrur out of his quiet surprise. “Y-yes?” She hiccuped.

Masrur hesitated, holding a calloused hand out towards her, ready to bring her to her feet. “Are you okay? Do you need me to call a taxi?” 

She blinked slowly, the words seeping into her head slowly, like syrup.

“I...”

“I can get you a glass of water for now.” Masrur said, and he brought his hand over hers, gently pulling her to her feet, guiding her to the bar. Pushing her down in a seat he put a glass of water in front of her, and she blinked again, taking it with pale, shaking hands

“Thank you...” Her speech was slurred in a way, making Masrur frown, but leave her to her water when another customer called.

When he came back he saw her sit somewhat straighter, but shaking and the tears he had barely seen before were gone, only the smudging of her eyeliner was there.

She smiled at him, the nude lipstick reflected in the harsh neon lights, but Masrur could still see her eyes, which were less of a dusty colour, and more of an ink black, less stormy and more calm, dark and deep. Masrur felt as if he was looking down in a deep sea, or up in the vast night sky.

But suddenly she turned away, and Masrur got back into routine, and quickly called a taxi to get her home.

She smiled again, tired, and thanked him, bowing slightly. Masrur guessed it was a common thing to do from her home country, and he waved her goodbye, walking back behind the bar, the neon lights and the deafening bass enveloping him. He wondered if he would get to see her again.

Much later he had heard from the cleaner that someone had left their phone. A simple, older model that he himself recognised, but from where he didn’t know. He put it in a safe for lost and found, before closing up the bar and beginning the long walk home through the haze of the morning workers running to not miss busses and trains, the noise of shoes against the concrete and the birds screeches, and the soft breezes against his sweaty tanned skin.


End file.
